Our First, Best Destiny
by Sentimental Star
Summary: After Krall's attack on the Yorktown, Jim and Spock still have some issues to work through…[BEYOND SPOILERS] [K/S, Kirk/Spock]


_**Disclaimer:**_ I own nothing in this marvelous universe; it all belongs to Gene Roddenberry and J.J. Abrams.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Um, so…after watching _Star Trek: Beyond_ three times and eagerly anticipating Spock and Jim's every interaction, you get this. I loved the place Spock and Jim were at in the movie, but I think I would have loved it even more if a greater degree of emphasis had been placed on their relationship (at least in some cases). From there, this story was born—please enjoy!

 _ **Rating:**_ T

 _ **Summary:**_ After Krall's attack on the Yorktown, Jim and Spock still have some issues to work through…[BEYOND SPOILERS] [Ambiguous/Implied Pairing] [K/S, Kirk/Spock]

" _ **Speech"**_

 _ **Personal Thoughts/Memories/Telepathy (Italics)**_

 _.:Our First, Best Destiny:._

 _By Sentimental Star_

 **Captain and Commander**

Artificial moonlight highlighted the features of a solitary figure perched close to the triangular windows of the Vulcan consulate on the Yorktown. Long, pale fingers gracefully lifted the lid to what looked to be a safebox, placed just before the figure's folded knees. As they moved to carefully lift the first article from its containment, however, the door to the temporary living quarters quietly hissed open.

Not typically prone to sudden movement, the figure nonetheless made a slightly aborted turn towards the door, a movement indicative of his shock.

Only three individuals had been given his permission to come and go as they pleased from his rooms, and just one—at this current time—required the temporary support of a walking device.

"Captain," despite his best efforts, the inflection of _surprise_ could not completely be willed out of Spock's voice. He made to stand, internalized protocol (and respect, there was that, too) dictating that he rise to greet the man he had willingly served under for three years.

But Jim merely shook his head, waving Spock back to his seat, "At ease, Mr. Spock."

However, as his Captain leaned quite obviously on his cane, Spock ignored him, and stiffly climbed to his feet, disregarding the faint twinge of his own, still-healing wound.

When Spock gently gripped his elbow, and guided him over to sit on one of the many cushions spread throughout the dimly lit room, a small, brilliant grin flashed across the younger man's lips, quick and sure as starlight. "You should be resting, Jim," Spock reprimanded softly, as his Captain settled himself.

Jim raised an eyebrow, clasping both hands over the head of his cane, and still smiling, "So should you, Spock."

Spock resumed the seat he had abandoned and—despite logic dictating otherwise—glanced away from Jim, "I find myself…preoccupied, Captain."

"Oh?" Jim leaned his chin forward on his clasped hands and regarded the Vulcan keenly. "Care to share, Mr. Spock?"

An edge under laid that seemingly innocuous question, and Spock glanced sharply at him, unused to receiving such a tone from his Commanding Officer, "Gladly, Captain, if you share what I have done to earn this fit of pique from you."

To his credit, Jim had the grace to look properly chagrinned. Flushing, he turned away and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, "Sorry, Spock," he murmured, contrite, "that was uncalled for. I just…" he trailed off.

Spock's…concern…had swiftly mounted with each interaction they shared. Now it made itself plain in his dark eyes, rising to surface in his voice, "Jim…"

The human released a short, humorless laugh, "God, Spock…" and finally returned his gaze, blue eyes over bright as he raked a hand through his hair, "why didn't you just _tell_ me?"

Stymied, Spock all but stared at him, "I do not understand the question."

"Bones said that you planned on…" but Jim could not go on, did not dare voice it.

 _Ah_. Spock did understand this.

He touched Jim's right shoulder, "It was not done with malicious intent, Jim," he murmured. "You are my friend, and I did try. When we were in the turbolift-"

Comprehension dawned, " _That's_ what you wanted to talk about?"

"More or less, Jim," Spock slid his hand around to cup the younger man's shoulder, aware that this was more contact than he had ever initiated between them, but sensing his Captain's very human need for reassurance.

A groan reverberated throughout the warm body beneath his palm in response, "Goddamned, cryptic Vulcanness."

Spock's eyebrows flew to his hairline, "Captain…?"

Despite the situation, Spock identified Jim's snort as fond, "You're cryptic, and you're Vulcan, so therefore 'cryptic Vulcanness.' It's a thing!" insisted.

Regardless of his best efforts, Spock's lips twitched, " _Half-_ Vulcan, Captain," refuted matter-of-factly, "as you appear to take inordinate pleasure in reminding me during these situations."

Spock most emphatically did _not_ almost smile when Jim flushed, squirmed, and glanced down at his hands where they fidgeted with his cane.

When Spock lightly squeezed his shoulder, the younger man looked up again, "I did try, Jim," repeated softly, seriously. "But I could not…" he paused, suddenly at a loss how to explain this to a human as precious as Jim.

Worry brightened Jim's eyes, and he reached back, touching Spock's clothed wrist and still respectful of telepathic boundaries. Spock forced himself to continue, "I could not find the _time_ …"

Illogically unable to maintain their gaze, Spock let his eyes fall shut, bowing his head and pressing a palm to his older counterpart's possessions. Silence permeated the space between them, with Spock automatically cataloguing every second and millisecond that passed.

After 2.37 seconds, Jim's hand slid up his arm to wrap around his elbow, far more gentle than Spock might have expected. He squeezed it lightly, "I get it, Spock," murmured.

Spock's eyes flew open at the squeeze, and he regarded the human pressing into his space unsurely, quietly noting that Jim hovered at its very edge, but did not quite breach it. When his gaze fell on his Captain, Jim gave him a bright smile, clearly meant to be reassuring, but, "There is one more thing, Jim. How much has Dr. McCoy told you of our conversation on Altamid?"

Jim's lips pressed into a thin line as his fingers tightened their grasp, "Just that you planned to leave Starfleet to fulfill your duty to your people. And that you were delirious from blood loss by the end."

Spock blinked, in what Jim identified as the Vulcan equivalent of shock, "I must profess to some small amount of surprise, Jim. It appears the Doctor has his own type of logic—he gave you just enough information to provoke you into looking for me, but not enough that I would escape your questioning."

Despite himself and the serious nature of their conversation, Jim snorted out a laugh, "Yeah, that sounds about right. He's useful sometimes."

"Captain, I would like to point out that as Chief Medical Officer, Dr. McCoy is-"

" _Spock_. Stop. I _know_ you know what I meant!"

Resisting the urge to sigh, and very aware he could not put this off any longer, Spock brushed two fingers against a startled Jim's wrist and released him to pick up the notice he had received of Ambassador Spock's death. Clenching his hands around the PADD, he turned back to the man at his side, "I fear this may be too difficult to say, Jim," admitted softly. "At least to you."

Holding out the PADD, Spock met Jim's eyes, not even attempting to hide his concern, "It will not be easy for you to read, Jim. It was not, for me. It still is not."

Although he accepted it, Jim's eyes did not waver from the Vulcan's, "I have faced worse, Mr. Spock."

The quick glance he gave Spock's right side, and the slight paling of the Captain's complexion, confirmed that Jim was not referring to his own death at the hands of Khan.

It made that particular side illogically ache.

Spock touched him again, this time brushing his fingertips against Jim's, "I fear your response even more, in that case."

He saw the moment it dawned on Jim what he held. The man, after all, had never been unintelligent.

Pale lips tightened even more, and the hands that held the PADD shook. Silently, Jim booted up the device, a sharp breath sucking in to his chest when he beheld the holographic photograph of Ambassador Spock, his birthdate and deathdate clearly transcribed underneath. One hand went up to cover his eyes after he read the dates twice, and after the third time, Spock hesitantly wrapped an arm all the way around his Captain's shoulders.

Jim did not make a sound, shivering under Spock's touch—a shiver which swiftly passed into violent trembles that wracked his whole frame and did not abate, no matter _how_ warmly Spock rubbed his back.

After 14.98 seconds, the Captain looked up, blue eyes shimmering wildly with moisture, "Spock, I-" his voice cracked once. "Sorry, I'm-" It cracked twice, "I mean—that is, I can't-"

On the third time it cracked, Spock reached up to brush his psi-points with two fingers.

Immediately, he was hit with, _sorrysorrysosorrycan'thelpitmisshimmissed_ _ **you**_ _couldhavelostyouboth…_

As the telepathic message permeated the layers of his mind, Spock carefully adjusted his grip to pull Jim more tightly against his (still-healing) side.

Instantly, his Captain stiffened, even as they touched shoulder to hip, and Spock could sense the furious argument that started up within the man as his desire to respect and not overwhelm Spock's telepathic boundaries warred with a visceral need to physically assure himself of the Vulcan's continued existence.

In response, Spock shook his head, firming his grip: "Jim," lightly chastised.

Jim's desire for physical reassurance won out. As he pressed his face to Spock's chest, yet another telepathic message seeped across the space between them, _feargratitudeaffectionthankyouthankyou thankyousomuchnoideahowbadlyIneededthis…_

Spock did not try to prevent the sigh from escaping this time, and wrapped both arms around Jim, hooking his chin over the Captain's shoulder and politely ignoring the growing damp patch against his neck.

Jim gave one, full-body sob that shook his shoulders, and fell silent.

IOIOIOIOIOI

Oddly, Spock did not find it necessary to quite so precisely track the time they spent curled together on the floor of his temporary living quarters. He found it equally unnecessary to acknowledge that the damp hair brushing up against his cheek was made so by his own entirely human lack of restraint.

In the end, more than thirty minutes had passed by the time Jim took a gulping swallow and pulled away from his First Officer's rather damp chest.

He blushed, averting his eyes and shyly brushing at Spock's uniform in a gesture that the Vulcan found illogically endearing: "Sorry," Jim's voice was a hushed, thick croak.

"Apologies are unnecessary, Captain."

Laughing wetly, Jim scrubbed an arm across his face, "For the love of God, Spock… _please_ , call me 'Jim.' I hardly feel like a Captain right now, after crying all over you."

Spock considered this for three-tenths of a second, then, "I do not believe that makes you less of a Captain, Jim. You are, and always have been, a man of deep compassion and empathy. It is one of your most valuable assets, and I admire you for it."

Jim's blush, which had begun to ebb, now rushed back full-force at his XO's forthright response. Trying to ignore the burn of his skin, the younger man rubbed a vigorous hand across his face and steadfastly willed back a second prick of tears, "Fuck," muttered embarrassedly. "Spock…are you _trying_ to make me cry again?"

A slim hand reached up and pulled Jim's away from his face, "Such was not my intention, Jim. I dislike seeing you so distressed."

"You and me both," grumbled, as the Vulcan hesitantly released him. Tired, red-rimmed eyes lifted to peer up inquiringly at Spock.

Spock's breath could not seem to escape his throat, and he supposed this was what must be meant by the Terran phrase, 'lump in the throat.' His capacity for calculation must have also returned, for he counted 5.062 seconds passed wherein he and Jim simply gazed at each other.

Then Jim sighed, bowing his head and breaking their nonverbal exchange with a small, self-deprecating grin, "Sorry, Spock. You were right in the middle of something when I barged in here, weren't you? I'll leave you to it-" he began to lever himself up.

But Spock's hand immediately reached up to grasp his wrist, and Jim paused, glancing down curiously.

Green tinted Spock's cheeks, "I…would not be averse to your presence in this matter, Jim."

"Spock, are you sure-?"

If ever a Vulcan could look exasperated, this one did, "Jim. I would not have asked otherwise."

A thick chuckle, "Right. Sorry."

Spock's lips compressed tightly, "Captain, I have told you. Apologies are-"

"Sorry?" Jim offered awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head.

A beat of silence. Abruptly, Spock's lips started twitching.

It took Jim exactly 1.11 seconds to figure out why. "Spock!" he cried, torn between indignation and laughter.

The corners of Spock's eyes crinkled in the Vulcan's version of a laugh, "Forgive me, Jim, but you must know…I do not mind at all."

Flushing, Jim muttered, "I'll bet." Lightly, he nudged Spock's shoulder with his own, moving to resume his seat, "You've made your point, Spock."

"I am pleased to have succeeded in this endeavor."

Spock's face remained unerringly blank, but as Jim found himself tugged down to sit on the cushion next to him, he detected the slight curl that edged up the corner of the Vulcan's lips. Sighing, he opened his mouth to make a smart quip…and read the embossed statement scrawled across the top of the safebox in front of the older man's knees: _**"Property of Ambassador Spock."**_

Jim froze. "Spock-" he began.

Dark eyes caught and held his, "Will it distress you, Jim? I…wish to share this with you, but if it troubles you-"

Jim shut his eyes and shook his head, releasing a shuddering breath, "Spock…by now it should be pretty obvious how difficult it is for me to say 'no' to you."

Spock raised an eyebrow, "26.4% of our conversations end with that particular interjection."

Jim blinked, and a slow blush crept into his cheeks, "Um, really?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

"Well…that's better than what I thought-"

"…And 1.9% of those conversations were non-injury related."

"…Or not." Jim gazed intently down at his hands, more than a little embarrassed by how transparent he apparently was, "My abysmal record for saying 'no' to you aside," he closed shaking fingers over the cloth of Spock's sleeve, "if you want me here, Spock, I'll stay." He swallowed thickly, "Let's do this."

 _End Chapter One_


End file.
